Wrong, so very wrong to have been thinking of her late, very late, into the night.
But why was she so stressed and unhappy?
If she were his partner, he’d make damn sure…
Diego blew out a breath, blocked that line of thought and carried on typing up the complicated handover sheet, filling in the updates on his charges, now that Rita the ward clerk had updated the admissions and discharges and changes of cots. It was Monday and there was always a lot to be updated. It was a job he loathed, but he did it quicker and more accurately than anyone else and it was a good way of keeping current with all the patients, even if he couldn’t be hands on with them all. So Diego spent a long time on the sheet—speaking with each staff member in turn, checking up on each baby in his care. The NICU handover sheet was a lesson in excellence.
‘I’m still trying to chase up some details for Baby Geller,’ Rita informed him as Diego typed in the three-days-old latest treatment regime. ‘Maternity hasn’t sent over forms.’
‘He came via Emergency.’ Diego didn’t look up. ‘After you left on Friday.’
‘That’s right—the emergency obstetric page that went out.’ Rita went through his paperwork. ‘Do you know the delivering doctor? I need to go to Maternity and get some forms then I can send it all down and he can fill it in.’
‘She.’ Diego tried to keep his deep voice nonchalant. ‘Izzy Bailey, and I think I’ve got some of the forms in my office. I can take them down.’
‘Is she back?’ Rita sounded shocked. ‘After all that’s happened you’d think she’d have stayed off till after the baby. Mind you, the insurance aren’t paying up, I’ve heard. They’re dragging their feet, saying it might be suicide—as if! No doubt the poor thing has to work.’
Diego hated gossip and Rita was an expert in it. Nearing retirement, she had been there for ever and made everyone’s business her own. Rita’s latest favourite topic was Megan the paediatrician, who she watched like a hawk, or Brianna Flannigan, the most private of nurses, but today Rita clearly had another interest. Normally Diego would have carried on working or told her to be quiet, but curiosity had the better of him and, not proud of himself, Diego prolonged the unsavoury conversation.
‘Suicide?’ Diego turned around. ‘Are you talking about Izzy’s husband?’
‘Henry Bailey!’ Rita nodded. ‘It wasn’t suicide, of course; he just drove off in a blind rage. She’d left him, but he turned up at work, waited for her in the car park…’ She flushed a little, perhaps aware that she was being terribly indiscreet and that Diego was normally the one to halt her. ‘I’m not speaking out of turn; it was all over the newspapers and all over the CCTV, though of course it would have been before you arrived in St Piran’s.’
No, it wasn’t his proudest morning, because once the handover sheet was complete, Diego headed for his office and closed the door. Feeling as if he was prying but wanting to know all the same, it didn’t take long to find out everything Rita had told him and more. Oh, he would never abuse his position and look up personal information, but it was there for everyone, splashed all over the internet, and as he read it he felt his stomach churn in unease for all she had been through.
Pregnant, trying to leave an abusive marriage, real estate agent Henry Bailey had beaten his wife in the darkened hospital car park. Rita was right, the whole, shocking incident had been captured on CCTV and images of footage and the details were spelt out in the press.
He felt sick.
Reading it, he felt physically sick and also strangely proud.
Her first day back.
Mierda! He cursed himself as he remembered his throw-away comment about the car park. He replayed the conversation they had had over and over and wished he could start with her again.
His door knocked and he quickly clicked away from the page he was viewing, before calling whoever it was to come in, but he felt a rare blush on his cheeks as the woman herself stood before him. Diego actually felt as if he’d been caught snooping as Izzy let herself in, a wide smile on her face, and he wondered how on earth she managed it.
She had leggings on again and a bright red dress with bright red lipstick and, Diego noticed, bright red cheeks as he just continued to stare up at her.
‘You need me to sign off on the delivery?’ It was Izzy who broke the silence; Diego was momentarily lost for words. ‘Your ward clerk just rang…’
‘We would have sent them down to you.’
‘Oh!’ Izzy blushed a shade darker as she lied just a little. ‘I thought it sounded urgent.’
‘I should have some forms…’ He was unusually flustered as he rummaged through his desk. ‘Or I’ll ring Maternity. Here…’ Diego found them and was pathetically grateful when the door knocked and one of his team stood there. with a screaming baby with a familiar request.
‘Would you mind?’
‘Not at all.’ He washed his hands, thoroughly, then took the screaming baby and plonked it face down on his forearm, its little head at his elbow, and he rocked it easily as he spoke.
‘Genevieve!’ he introduced. ‘Goes home this week, please God! I do not envy her parents.’
Well, Genevieve looked as if she’d happily stay with Diego for ever! The tears had stopped and she was already almost asleep as he bounced away.
‘If you want to get started on the forms I’ll just go and get the details you’ll need.’ He paused at the door. ‘I was just about to get a drink…’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Izzy said, and then changed her mind. ‘Actually, water would be great.’
‘Would you mind…?’ It was his turn to say it and he gestured to the baby. Izzy went to put out her hands and then laughed.
‘Joking!’ she said, then went over to his sink and thoroughly washed hers. ‘Am I clean enough for you?’
Oh, God, there was an answer there!
And they just both stood there, looking a bit stunned.
Izzy flaming red, Diego biting down on his tongue rather than tell her he’d prefer her dirty.
And thank God for Miss Genevieve or he might just have kissed her face off!
Diego got them both water.
Well, he couldn’t do much with two polystyrene cups and tap water but he did go to the ice dispenser and then had a little chat with himself in his head as he walked back to his office.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He hardly knew her, she was pregnant, and she obviously had major issues.
Why was he acting like a twelve-year-old walking past the underwear department in a department store? Nervous, jumpy, embarrassed, hell, he couldn’t actually fancy her, and even if he did, normally that didn’t pose a problem—he fancied loads of women.
This, though, felt different.
Maybe he felt sorry for her? Diego wondered as he balanced a file under his arm and two cups in one big hand and opened his office door.
But, no, he’d been thinking about her long before Rita had told him what had happened.
Then she looked up from the form she was filling in and smiled, and Diego was tempted to turn round and walk out.
He more than fancied her.
Not liked, not felt sorry for, no. As he washed his hands and took Genevieve from her and sat down behind his desk it wasn’t sympathy that was causing this rather awkward reaction.
Diego was used to women.
Beautiful women.
Ordinary women.
Postnatal women.
Pregnant women were regular visitors to his unit—often he walked a mum-to-be around his unit, telling her what to expect once her baby was born.
He was more than used to women, yet not one, not one single one, had ever had this effect on him.
‘How is Toby doing?’ Izzy looked up from the forms and Diego made a wobbly gesture with one hand.
‘Can I have a peek?’ Izzy signed off her name and then reached for her water. ‘I’m done.’
‘Sure,’ Diego said. ‘I’ll put this one down and take
you over—we’ve moved him.’
Genevieve was sleeping now, and Izzy walked with him to the nursery. It was a far more relaxed atmosphere there.
There were about eight babies, all in clear cribs and dressed in their own clothes, the parents more relaxed and, Izzy noticed, everyone had a smile when Diego walked in and put Genevieve back in her cot.
He was certainly popular, Izzy thought as they head back out to the busy main floor of NICU.
‘You need to—’
‘Wash my hands,’ Izzy interrupted, ‘I know.’
‘Actually…’ Diego gave a small wince. ‘Your perfume is very strong. Perhaps you could…’
‘I’m not wearing perfume,’ Izzy said as she soaped up her hands, ‘and you’re hardly one to talk, I can smell your cologne from here!’
‘I don’t wear cologne for work.’
‘Oh.’ Izzy glanced over. ‘Then what…?’ She didn’t finish, she just turned back to the taps and concentrated really hard on rinsing off the soap.
She could smell him.
If she breathed in now she could taste him—she’d even commented to Megan on his cologne, but Megan had said…Izzy swallowed as she recalled the flip conversation. Megan hadn’t even noticed it…
She could smell him and Diego could smell her and they’d just told each other so.
There was no witty comeback from that.
It was the most awkward five minutes of her life.
Okay, not the most awkward—the last few months had brought many of them. Rather it was the most pleasantly cringe-making, confusingly awkward five minutes of her life.
She peered at Baby Geller and asked after his mother, Nicola. She tried to remember that breathing was a normal bodily function as the nurse who was looking after the babe asked Diego to hold him for a moment while she changed the bedding. The sight of the tiny baby nestled in his strong arms, resting against his broad chest, was just such a contrast between tenderness and masculinity that it had Izzy almost dizzy with the blizzard of emotions it evoked.
‘I’d better get back.’ Her mouth felt as if was made of rubber—even a simple sentence was difficult.
She managed a smile and then she turned and walked briskly out of the department. Only once she was safely out did she lean against the wall and close her eyes, breathing as if she’d run up the emergency exit steps. Shocked almost because never in her wildest dreams had she considered this, even ventured the possibility that she might be attracted to someone.
She was so raw, so scared, so just dealing with functioning, let alone coping, that men weren’t even on a distant horizon yet.
And yet…
She’d never been so strongly attracted to someone.
Never.
Even in the early days with Henry, before he’d shown his true colours, she hadn’t felt like this. Oh, she had loved him, had been so deeply in love she’d been sure of it—only it had felt nothing like this attraction.
An attraction that was animal almost.
She could smell the delicious fragrance of him.
Right now, on her skin in her hair, she leant against the wall and dragged in the air, and still his fragrance lingered in her nostrils.
‘Izzy!’ Her eyes opened to the concerned voice of Jess. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine!’ She smiled. ‘I was just in NICU, and it’s so hot in there…’ God, she felt like she’d been caught smoking by the headmistress, as if Jess could see the little plumes of smoke coming from behind her back. She tried to carry on as if her world hadn’t just upended itself. Jess would hardly be thrilled to hear what was going through her patient’s mind now.
It was impossible that it was even going through her mind now.
There wasn’t room in her life, in her heart, in her head for even one single extra emotion, let alone six feet two of made-in-Spain testosterone.
‘How are you finding it?’ Jess asked as they walked in step back to the emergency department, and then Jess gave a kind smile, ‘I’m just making conversation…’
‘I know.’ Izzy grinned and forced herself back to a safer conversation than the one she was having with herself. ‘Actually, it’s been really nice. It’s good having something else to think about.’
Only she wasn’t just talking about work.
Chapter Five
‘THE nurses are all tied up and I’ve got to dash over to the children’s ward,’ Megan said into the phone. ‘I’ll ask Izzy.’
‘Ask Izzy what?’
She’d been back a full week now.
It was late.
She was tired.
And the patient she was dealing with wasn’t exactly helping Izzy’s mood.
‘I’ve got a patient on NICU,’ Megan explained. ‘A new admission. His mum’s bipolar and Diego wants some sedation for her. The baby was an emergency transfer so there’s no local GP and her medications are all at home. She’s getting really agitated, and really it sounds as if she just needs a good night’s sleep and then her husband can bring in her meds in the morning. Diego wants her seen straight away, though. Is there any chance? I’d do it but I’ve got to go up to the ward.’
‘You’ll have to speak to Josh or one of the nurses,’ Izzy was unusually terse. ‘I’m about to suture someone and then I’m going home.’
She was aware of the rise of Megan’s eyebrow. Normally Izzy was accommodating, but Diego’s name seemed to be popping up in her day all too often—and her thoughts were turning to him too, rather more than Izzy was comfortable with.
Still it wasn’t just a sexy neonatal nurse that had caused Izzy’s terse reaction. Just as Jess had predicted, there would be patients that would touch a very raw nerve with Izzy, and even though she had assured Jess she would have no trouble dealing with them, Evelyn Harris had hit a nerve.
In her early forties she had presented having tripped over the cat and cut her head on the edge of the coffee table. Vivienne, the student nurse, had had a quiet word with Izzy before she had examined her, telling her that she had noticed some other bruises on her arms when she had checked her blood pressure and, sure enough when Izzy had checked the blood pressure again, she had seen the new fingertip bruises, but had chosen not to comment.
‘You’re going to need a few stitches!’ Izzy had said instead. ‘How’s the cat?’
The relief in the room at Izzy’s small joke had been palpable, Evelyn had laughed and John Harris had said the cat would be in the naughty corner, or some other light-hearted thing, and Izzy had smiled back.
Had let him think, as he no doubt did, that she was stupid.
‘Vivienne?’ Izzy called out to a student nurse. ‘Could you set up the minor theatre?’ She smiled at Mrs Harris. ‘I’ll take you over and I’ll be in with you in a moment.’
‘I’ll stay with you,’ Mr Harris reassured his wife, and then explained why to Dumb Doctor Izzy. ‘She doesn’t like needles.’
‘Sorry!’ Izzy breezed. ‘We can only have the patient.’ She gave a very nice smile. ‘We shan’t be long, at least I hope not. You’re my last patient for the night…’ She chatted away, not letting the husband get a word in, acted dizzy and vague and rushed, as if getting home was the only thing on her mind, telling them both to take a seat outside minor ops. Then she headed for the annexe, checked who the on-call social worker was for the night and was just considering her options when Megan had asked the favour. With her emotions already bubbling to the surface, the thought of seeing Diego was the last thing she needed.
There was something about him that got under her skin, though in a nice way, and Izzy, right now, just wasn’t comfortable with nice.
Wasn’t used to nice.
And was nowhere near ready for it either.
As Izzy came into the minor theatre, Vivienne was just bringing Evelyn through and Mr Harris’s voice came through the open door as his wife stepped inside.
‘I’m right outside, darling,’ he said, only Izzy could hear his clear warning.
�
��Lie down here, Evelyn,’ Izzy said, then headed over to the small bench in the corner and turned on the radio. ‘Let’s have some music to distract you.’ She washed her hands and pulled on some gloves and then gently gave the wound a clean before injecting in some local anaesthetic. ‘I’m fine on my own, Vivienne,’ Izzy said. ‘It’s pretty busy out there.’
‘I’m to cut for you,’ came the response, but Izzy could cut her own stitches and wanted to be alone with Evelyn, except Vivienne wouldn’t budge. ‘Beth told me to get into Theatre as much as I could.’
‘Could you get me some 3–0 catgut?’ Izzy said, knowing they had run out but checking the wound as if that was the thread she needed. ‘There’s none here, but I think there should be some in the store cupboard.’
‘There isn’t any,’ Vivienne said. ‘I did the stock order with Beth this afternoon.’
Vivienne needed a crash course on taking a hint, but Izzy didn’t have time right now. Evelyn only needed a couple of stitches and Mr Harris would no doubt start to get impatient soon, so Izzy dragged the stool over with her foot and given the time constraints realised she would have to be more direct than she would normally choose.
‘Evelyn,’ Izzy said, ‘is there anything you want to tell me?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I know,’ Izzy said gently. ‘I know that you didn’t just trip…’ She watched her patient’s nervous lick of her dry lips, her eyes anxiously dart to the theatre door. ‘He can’t hear,’ Izzy said. ‘That’s why I put the radio on. You can talk to me.’
‘Can you just do your job and suture me?’ Evelyn bristled. ‘I tripped! Okay?’
‘There’s a bruise on the opposite cheek, finger marks on your arms. I can sort out help…’
‘Really?’ The single word was so loaded with sarcasm, just so scornful and filled with dark energy that Izzy let out a breath before she spoke next.
‘I can ring the social worker. There are shelters…’
‘I’ve a seventeen-year-old son.’ Evelyn’s lip curled in bitter response. ‘The shelters won’t let me bring him with me. Did you know that?’ she challenged, and Izzy shook her head.
‘So what do you suggest, Doctor? That I leave him with him?’
St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year / St Piran's: Rescuing Pregnant Cinderella Page 21